Company Flow 8 Steps To Perfection lyrics

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8 Steps To Perfection by Company Flow 8 Steps To Perfection lyrics Songwriters: Leonard Smythe;Jaime Meline;Justin Ingleton Rugged like Rwanda, don't wind up far or get chopped up Quick to rush the spot like baby urine get mopped up Tags that spray your hall with rap aerosol Organized graffiti lectures in can control Or level with the devil racing uptown first to Fort Apache I'm much too much for any demon style to master me From the thought's next bridge to the hell's gate, lyrically detonating Sparking M-80's and bottle rockets it's a nigga chaser Downtown graffiti deface a heroin debaser Open up your eyes and clean out your nature Wide open like the grand canyon Emcees couldn't hang if they was lynched by the Grand Dragon Searching for my style like Job-Corps Coming home on work release shoplifting at the rap store But sabotaging me ain't easy I'm crooked like Nathan Wind starring as Cochise With a big baseball bat you get robbed like DeNiro A sandwich still ain't nothing but a hero Just a small sample of the abstract When the rhyme gets crazy hot and lyrics don't know how to act Whether shooting joints or wax I go all out and attack crabs and herbs that's crazy wack We all can't be pimps, and we all can't rap You got to get your dollars on cause it's on like that Here's what I want you to do Niggas with the green Axe and burgundy Forerunner Inhuman like Blade Runner When I'm rhyming all summer just listen to the drummer Transistor blister feedback freak the impeders Funk flow we expose frequencies in sequence Napalm gets dropped long range like fiber optics Check the rhyme activity your skills is microscopic Peace to my crew and my nigga El-P Who's here to spark it causing all these crabs to flee Check it and I inflict it quattro nine fifty lungs misty Color me Maxmillian 'cause I'm that crazy robot Teetering on the edge of outer space Spitting buckshots till black holes surround me, you found me As far as I'm concerned, I've got your ashes in an urn Big up, the temperamental hold none barred kid What's your confunction? Tracks is type dusty Drinking water out the well of life and I'ma piss it back rusty Flesh and phonics, you're god damned right I'm on 'em like aorta pacemakers hooked up to clappers Clap off, welcome to my free form jubilee, look at me The witness to the shit you wanna be DBA lyrical P known as a simp and I'm a sycophant Feeding on fats passed and dipped In and out of my invisible state Forerunner rep tyrannical Wrecks like techs bust mechanical Rusty goner weasel painting beats on an easel Shoot a head up What bitch you're boxing shadows Look out my way you pull your breath out to battle Breaking your double helix, and now the shit is single Not mono, I burn the needle out your vinyl El-P the third gunner on the grassy knoll Stroll, keep the seventh seal of heaven in my pocket You're faggot like sprockets, motherfuck the Houston Rockets I'm so sick of recycled metaphors Bet but I'd fuck Laura Ingalls only when she's done with her chores Got rappers tip toeing on a Highway to Heaven Got manners like Bruce Banner when he's stressed I'm sick of your corny beats and your crowd-involved hooks 'Cause I'm a thinker, evil anus letting off stinkers 8 steps to perfection The sum of each part forms an octagon Let rhyme styles get sparked 8 steps to perfection The sum of each part forms an octagon Where rhyme styles get sparked The holy terror, last moves you never won't win Playing taps on a violin You can never comprehend the rhyme origin I rate one like a Chinese, Jamaican like a chin Hot rocking corduroy, Bally's that's so fitted Niggas came and assed out my tracks and left 'em shitted Fuck the movement, lubricate the smooth shit Just to letcha know, never do I use it Strictly the blueprint for the ghetto music in my cipher Shorty the sniper Jeep like Cherokee When I take aim handling wall to wall emcees Mr. Madman attract lyrics like magnets They fuck up speaking cavernous when I'm stabbing it Like the Juice, then go Bronco busting loose That's my word, you couldn't shoot or try to compute the math To kick any type sport like the vandal I manhandle, emcees get murdered like Tennessee Or trapped in the bedroom with the 'Texas Chainsaw Massacre' One two three, 'The Taking of Pelham' Eastwick underground New York be the dwelling I keep telling 'em the state of the mind be the mentals If you murder up in the ghetto you murder in a temple


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